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From this same briary labyrinth.
Come, honest comrade, and I swear to thee,
On a rough soldier's word, I know not how
E'er to requite thy friendship.

Kilm. Pish, Count! What, for scrambling up a rock! When I was a greenhorn, I would have gone as far after a bird's nest. Oh, St. Iago! may the man that falters to risk his neck for a friend and a female in a mountain, break it while he's a boy climbing for eggs in an orchard !

[Exeunt Virolet and Kilmallock, L. Zoray. I know not why it is, at this our parting, My blood should flow so chilly through my veins. "Tis not fatigue, for I have slept—is’t fear?

Sure no, for I do now most firmly trust “There is a power to throw its sacred shield

Before the zealous follower of its laws, " And ward off every danger." I will rest me Till they come back again; for there is something Strange and unwonted weighs upon my spirit, Till my weary body totters. [Rests on a bank, R. S. E.

Enter BULCAZIN MULEY, R. Bulca. Curses on them ! Fortune has poured her dregs of malice on me, And packed these weak and halting knaves together, To check my expedition. Every Moor Measures his swarthy length upon the ground: Beneath each bush there lies a fainting soldier. That Ganem, too, should droop! “Oh, could I blow "One spark of a wronged father's rage among them, “The lusty band would march the world about, " As vigorously as the mountain deer “Will bound away a league.” Still I will forward. Should I o'ertake the changeling, plodding now Her way with this same Christian runagate, Were

every limb unstrung with lassitude, I think the loathsome sight would nerve my arm To strike her dead before me! (Seeing Zorayda.] Soft!

By Mahomet,
'Tis she! alone, too!—She seems weak and sinking.
Oh, my poor child! my stubborn, wayward child !
Shame on’t! I shall forget my injuries !

Zoray. (Rising.) Oh, heaven and earth! my father !
Bulca. Ay, look on me. Thou canst not. Well

, that's something : There still is left some touch of shame within thee. Tell

me, thou viper !- What is’t chokes me thus?
Oh ! thou hast broke thy poor old father's heart!
My curses on thee !--Thy ingratitude,
Thy infamy-What made thee fly me ?

Zoray. Conscience,
The holy zeal that led me from thy house
Burns high within me now: that frown, my father,
Would kill me else. 'Tis true, I am your child :
Stab me!—I'll kiss the hand that gives me death!
But I would languish ages out in torture,
Ere I would quit that heaven-directed path,
The strong resistless movements of my soul
Do bid me follow.

Bulca. " Why, 'tis bravely said
"Down, passion, down !-our parley shall be brief:"
One point, and I have done. Tell me, Zorayda-
I have it from thy lips—for circumstance
May hang a doubt upon't, and tell me true,
Is there a-Psha! I cannot utter it ?
Hast thou a companion in thy flight?

Zoray. My father,
I should disgrace the faith I follow now
To utter falsehood to thee.

• There is one
• Whose form and gallant bearing, I confess,

Captured my maiden fancy;" he has strayed
Across this mountain with me; yet I

I had ne'er followed him,
Had he not proved himself well schooled in honour,
And a right Christian.

Bulca. Pestilence and torture !
Dost own it, wretch? Thou hast disgraced in thee
Thy father's blood; and justice, which has slept,
Now rouses, and will shed it!

[Draus his cimetar and offers to kill her.
Oct Ruffian, hold !
Advance thine arm the tithe part of a hair

To injure helpless woman, by my soul,
(Prove but my weapon true,) thy turba ed head
Shall roll a trunkless ball


the ground, For crows to peck at !

Bulca. Busy fools ! begone!
Ye do seem Christian, and it shocks my sight
To look on any


tribe. Get hence !
Nor cross a father's vengeance on his child.
I could have pardoned her, had she not stopped
To mingle with thy herd; but she has fed
Our holy prophet's laws,-fled, like a wanton,
To wander with a dog of thy persuasion !

Oct. Love and Religion mingled! Brighter flames
Ne’er glowed within a virgin beauty's bosom;
And thou wouldst smother them!-Thou’rt a true father!
Wretch ! did the savage spirit that gives strength
To twenty thousand Moors now brace thy sinews,
I'd grapple with thee thus, [Seizing him,] nor quit my

hold Till I had offered thee a sacrifice On injured Love's


altar! [ They struggle-Octavian overthrows Bulcazın, ana

wrenches the cimetar from him. Zoray. Oh, heaven! My father, my dear father!-Savo


Re-enter VIROLET and KILMALLOCK, L. Viro. Zorayda! her father! [To Octavian.] Stop thy

"Twere better thou didst plunge thy weapon here,
Home to my very heart, than let it fall
On him thou hast o'erthrown. By heaven! it is
The lost Octavian !

Oct. Thy word can charm me:
Thou art Floranthe's brother; and, I swear,
For no man else could I restrain the transport
That gushes on my soul, when I have pulled
At last one flinty father to my feet,
Who tears the bands of love asunder,
Anil strews his children's path with thorns !

[Gives the cimetar to Virolet, and retires up with Flo

ranthe, L.

Viro. (c.) [To Bulcazin.) Sir, this which I restore into

your hand, I fear me, in my absence, has been raised (Receive it now) against a daughter's life. He, for whose sake you would bereave her of it, Is bred in Christian faith! and it does teach him To shelter yours, and, in the hour of anguish, To offer succour to his enemy.

Kilm. Spoke, Count, like a noble gentleman. Oh! let a Christian alone for a good action : he'll do you twenty in a breath, without preaching, when a Mussulman will shut up his Koran, to go kick his fellow-creatures about like a parcel of foot-balls. Bulca. [To Virolet.) Christian, it seems I owe my life

to thee.
'Tis a vast debt that thou hast heaped upon me;
And I have now a something working here,

urge me to requite thee. . Trust me, Christian,
The rough and dusky bosom of a Moor
Does carry feeling in it. My Zorayda !
My child ! come hither to me. Oh, this struggle!
Zorayda, thy mother once was Catholic;
Her nature haply rises in thee. Well,
I see 'twere vain to check it. Take her, Christian,
But speak not to me now-my heart is full.
I will as far as Ronda with thee; thero

confer more calmly. Zoray. Oh, my father! Viro. This is a gift indeed !

Enter Sadi and AGNES, R. Sadi. Nay, come on, Agnes. With thee uuder one arm, and a flagon under t'other, a fig for mountains, and let the world wag!

Agnes. Mercy! here's goodly company!- The Lady Zorayda !--Oh, happy day!

Sadi. Aud my old master, the Moor, by all the saints in Christendom !

Viro. Peace, lionest fellow; now thou meet'st all friends : let that content you.

Sadi. An’a man be not content when he ineets all friends, I know not what will satisfy him; and that friends

may not sunder again, here comes a whole posse of goat herds at our heels, going our road towards the foot of the mountain.

Enter Male and Female GOATHERDS, and other Pastora

Characters, R. and L.
Oct. (Coming forward, c.] Then let us on; and when

the shepherd tunes
His rustic pipe along the mountain's side,
We will beguile the way, as we recount
Each turn that fortune, in her sport, has marked,
As she has led us through Love's labyrinth.

As we goatherds trudge along,

O’er the mountains bleak and brown,
Merrily we troll the song,

Till we reach the distant town.
With scrip and wine that sparkling smiles,
The dreary journey each beguiles;
Through cold and heat, through sun, through snow

We sing to market as we go.
Chorus. As we goatherds, &c.

And each a female by his side,
Wedded wife or wished-for bride,
Cheerily descends the dale,

Whisp'ring soft a true-love tale.
Chorus. As we goatherds, &c.

Blessed be every faithful pair !

May no rigid sires control,
In the bosom of the fair,

emotions of the soul ! Chorus. Thus we goatherds, &c.



Male and Female



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